


In the Eyes of the Beholder

by wightfaerie



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wightfaerie/pseuds/wightfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short Halloween story</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eyes of the Beholder

**In the Eyes of the Beholder**

Hutch stopped at the park gates and looked at his watch. It was six-forty-five on Halloween morning. He loved this time of day. The dew glistened on the foliage and the world was still asleep, for the most part anyway.

He and Starsky had pulled the early shift, but Hutch was determined that work wouldn’t interfere with his run. He’d arranged for Starsky to meet him at the other side of the park. He could shower and change when he got to the station.

His fortieth birthday had been a few months ago, but Hutch wasn’t going to sit on his laurels. He’d finally settled on a healthy lifestyle in the past few years and wasn’t about to let that go to waste. Stretching his arms above his head, he cracked the last remaining kinks from his back. Feeling better, he jogged through the gates and continued his steady run through the meandering paths and trees.

Rounding the last bend, Hutch was focused on his goal, the small green wooden gate and the parking lot beyond where Starsky would be waiting for him. “What the...?” he said, stumbling over something in his path.

The something moved; a small face peered at him from under a raised arm. Standing up straight, the boy said, “Hey, mister. Do you know my pop?”

Hutch took a step back and squatted, resting on his heels. Curling his body even further, he was finally eye to eye with the child. “I might.” He didn’t recognize the boy. “What’s his name?”

“Pop,” replied the child.

Hutch laughed. “Of course, it is.” He tried again. “What does your mom call him?”

“A drunken bum,” replied the boy seriously.

Hutch smothered another laugh. Change the line of questioning. “What’s your name?” He kept his hands by his sides, not wanting to scare the child by touching him, although the boy seemed confident enough to talk to a stranger.

“Evan Trent.”

Hutch held out his hand, still making no attempt to handle the boy. “Pleased to meet you, Evan Trent.”

Evan gripped Hutch’s hand.

“Mine’s Ken Hutchinson. I’m a policeman.” He shook the small hand that took his without further hesitation.

“I know.” Evan pulled his hand out of Hutch’s.

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “You do, do you? Have we met before?”

“I just know.”

Hutch looked Evan up and down. Squatting for this long was making Hutch’s knees ache.

Evan’s clothes were strange to say the least--knee length brown tweed knickers, a simple white cotton shirt and a matching brown waist length jacket. His brown curly hair was unkempt, slightly too long and tangled with dirt.

“Do you know your address?” Hutch asked. “Which way did you come into the park?”

For the first time, fear crossed Evan’s face. “I don’t know. I just woke up and I was here.”

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. At best, Evan was lying to him. At worst, could his parents have drugged him and abandoned him here? He hoped the first one. The latter was too awful to contemplate. He stood up and held out his hand. “I think you’d better come with me. See if we can find your pop and mom. My partner will be waiting for me.”

Evan grabbed Hutch’s hand. He smiled up at Hutch. “I like you,” he said solemnly.

Hutch smiled back. “Thank you.” He led Evan to the gate. Peering into the parking lot, he saw the tomato sitting in the corner to the right of the exit. “There he is; that bright red and white car.” Starsky was bent over the hood, probably scrubbing off some imaginary mark.

“What’s a car?” Evan’s eyes were wide as he stared across the lot.

Hutch did a double take. “What’s a car?” he said slowly, not quite sure he’d heard correctly. “You don’t know what a car is?”

“No.” Evan shook his head. “What does it do?” He looked up at Hutch.

That mask of fear was back again. This kid was confusing. One minute he was confident and the next, he seemed like he wanted to crawl inside himself and not come out again.

“It gets people from one place to another.” Hutch tightened his grip on Evan, scared he might bolt away from him.

“Like a horse and buggy?”

Before he could stop himself, Hutch asked, “Are you Amish?”

Evan stared at the Torino. “It looks funny,” he said, without answering Hutch’s question.

“It sure does.” Hutch strode over to Starsky, with Evan trailing a few steps behind him. He was almost wrenching Hutch’s arm out of the socket.  “Hey, Starsk,” he greeted his partner.

“’Bout time. Dobey’s gonna have our asses if we don’t get to the station soon.” Starsky walked around the hood and got into the driver’s seat. He didn’t even glance in Evan’s direction.

“Good morning to you too,” Hutch said sarcastically as he opened the door. He pushed Evan into the front seat, sliding him along to the middle. Starsky’d changed the bucket seats to a bench seat again, but at least he’d put in seatbelts.

“Don’t want to. Don’t like it,” Evan protested, brushing Hutch’s hand off of his shoulder.

“You have to get in the car so we can find your parents,” Hutch informed him.

“Hutch, will you stop talking to yourself and get in the car already,” Starsky said impatiently.

“I’m not talking to myself,” Hutch said, climbing into the car and nudging Evan closer to Starsky with his leg.

“Could a’ fooled me, partner.” Starsky revved the engine to life, the tires squealing their usual protests as he drove to the exit.

“Evan here,” Hutch gestured towards the boy, “hasn’t been in a car and isn’t too happy about it.”

Starsky furrowed his brow. With one hand on the steering wheel, he reached across to feel Hutch’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Why?” Hutch shook his head, dislodging Starsky’s hand.

“Did you fall and bang your head while you were running?”

Hutch turned to face Starsky, glaring at him over Evan’s head. “What’s with you this morning? I find this kid alone in the park and bring him with me so we can find his parents, and you don’t even give him a glance.”

“What kid?” Starsky slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of parking lot.

Hutch put his hand on the dash to stop from hurtling into the windscreen. Damn, he was so irritated with Starsky that he’d forgotten his seatbelt. “The kid sitting between us.” He ruffled Evan’s hair.

Starsky stared at Evan. “Hutch,” he said softly, “there’s no one there.”

Evan teared up and sniffed.

“Put a sock in it, Starsky. This isn’t funny. Do you enjoy upsetting little kids?” Hutch couldn’t believe that Starsky was being so insensitive and cruel.

“I don’t.”

“Then why’re you being so horrible to Evan?” Hutch pulled the boy into a hug.

Starsky touched Evan’s leg without seeming to notice. “I think I need to take you to the Emergency room, buddy. There’s only me and you in the car.”

“Stop it, Starsk. He can hear you.” Hutch scowled at Starsky.

“He doesn’t like me,” Evan said quietly.

Starsky turned to Hutch, lifting his knee into the space between them, pushing Evan’s legs against Hutch’s. Starsky swept his hand up Evan’s front, stopping near his mouth.

Evan bit Starsky’s little finger hard.

“Ow. What the fuck!” Starsky put his finger between his lips, sucking intently before taking it out and examining the tip.

Evan grinned.

Hutch grinned back at him. “Serves you right, partner. Maybe you can’t see him, but you can feel his bite. Now stop being mean and acknowledge the child. I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning.”

“Must be a spring coming through the seat,” Starsky said. He rubbed his finger.

“For heaven’s sake, Starsky!” Hutch said angrily. He thumped the dash. “I’m gonna punch you in a minute.”

Evan jumped at the sound.

“Sorry,” Hutch said to him.

“Thanks for nothing,” Starsky retorted, grabbing the steering wheel and gunning the engine into life.

“I was talking to Evan, not you.” Hutch leaned over and tugged the keys out of the ignition. “You should say you’re sorry to him.”

Starsky muttered under his breath and swiveled in his seat. “For the last time, there’s no one in this car besides the two of us.” He swept his hand across the space between them. “Maybe you _should_ see a doctor. Something’s obviously not right up there.” He tapped his own head.

Exasperated, Hutch looked at the empty space. Empty space. Where was Evan? “Where did he go?” Suddenly Hutch felt dizzy and disorientated.

Starsky gave Hutch a pitying look. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Do you want me to take you home?”  
Hutch looked around and peered into the back seat. There was nothing, no one. “He was here, right here.” He patted the seat, straining his eyes for anything to corroborate his story. Fuck, what was happening to him?

“What was his name?” Starsky asked gently.

Hutch knew where Starsky was going with the question. He was trying to determine the facts.

“Evan Trent.”

“Evan Trent, huh?” Starsky repeated, screwing his face up in concentration.

“That’s what I said,” Hutch snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. Blinking rapidly, he gazed intently at the spot where Evan had been sitting, sure that if he stared long enough, the boy would reappear as quickly as he’d disappeared.

Starsky laughed. “I get it.” He put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “Oh, buddy.”

Starsky was annoying the hell out of him. “I wish I did. If there was a shrink nearby, I’d be in Cabrillo by now. Pray, enlighten me.”

“You’re tired.” Starsky paused for a breath. “Didn’t sleep much last night. Got up this morning, dressed and went straight out for your run without eating. Low blood sugar. Or maybe it’s just the Halloween jitters.”

“How’d you figure that?” Hutch asked half heartedly.

“I’m a detective.” Starsky quipped, and then looked at Hutch. “Seriously, you know how freaky you get on Halloween. For someone who doesn’t believe in the unexplained, you sure do have your moments.”

“Mmmm.” Hutch wasn’t convinced that that was the only explanation. But the alternative would mean that he wasn’t right in the head, and he preferred Starsky’s version. _He hadn’t eaten this morning._ _He did hate the unexplained, and all things Halloween made him think about them even more._ “Come on, before Dobey is out for our hides.” He handed Starsky the keys.

Starsky started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Hutch could have sworn he saw Evan waving in the passenger side mirror. He kept that little gem to himself.

***

Hutch combed his hair, using the small mirror inside his locker to make sure it wasn’t sticking out all over the place. Satisfied, he put his comb in his back pocket, and buckled the belt that was hanging loose through the loops in his black jeans.

The only other person in the room, besides him and Starsky, was Ed Saunders, a seasoned vice cop.

“See you guys later, at Huggy’s Halloween bash.” The dark haired cop threw a newspaper onto the bench next to Hutch. “Yours if you want it. Guess I’d better get back out there. More dodgy dealers to track down.”

Hutch marveled at how a guy who was in his early fifties managed to look like a haggard thirty year old addict. Of course, the beard, long straggly hair and lithe body helped. Unlike some of the older cops, Ed hadn’t succumbed to the pot belly that most of them sported.

“Maybe,” Hutch acknowledged, nodding his head.

“Make that definitely,” Starsky committed for both of them.

Hutch gave Starsky a withering look. Huggy threw a Halloween party every year, and Hutch usually managed to avoid it. In a moment of madness, he had agreed to go with Starsky tonight.

Starsky picked up the paper. “Hey, Hutch. There’s an interesting article here, Murders of Yesteryear.” He scanned the page. “The Bay City Post has been running a series on old murders all month. This one’s about Holmby Park.”

“Let me see that.” Hutch snatched the paper from Starsky.

“Hey, I was reading that,” Starsky protested.

“You can only do that if you could read,” Hutch quipped back.

“I object.”

“Sure you do, Starsk.” Hutch folded the newsspaper, reading the first paragraph.

_A boy, eight years of age, was found in the garden of Holmby House, a home devoted to the care of young boys aged six to sixteen. Cuthbert James, proprietor, told police that the boy wasn’t one of his charges. The beat cop who found him, Sergeant Phillip Rees, said he saw a pile of rags as he passed by the gate and went to investigate. The boy was barely alive and he uttered the words, “Hey, Mister. Do you know my pop?” before fainting. He was dead on arrival at City Hospital. The cause of death was established as malnutrition, exposure and high levels of arsenic in his system. It is said that the boy’s spirit returns to the spot, now Holmby Park, every year on the anniversary of his death, October 31._

Hutch stared, open mouthed at the article. He flopped heavily onto the bench, dropping the paper to the floor.

Starsky bent down and picked it up. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you read that story?” Hutch could feel the color draining out of his face. He stroked at his bare chest.

Starsky surveyed the page. “I remember my Uncle Al telling me about that boy when I first moved here. Don’t know anyone who’s ever seen the kid, though.”

“I have,” Hutch said under his breath.

***

 

 

 


End file.
